Absolution
by casket4mytears
Summary: Drabble-ish, LoVe. Nine years of radio silence. That's what he's lived through and endured. It wasn't for lack of trying. Logan and Veronica POVs exploring the time between the series and the film. No major movie spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: In light of the impending release of the Veronica Mars movie (this right here? a legit over-the-moon face), I was feeling a little... drabble-ish. I have no idea how things went down, precisely, in the 9 years between "The Bitch Is Back" and the film, but consider this one version of what might have happened for one troubled young man.**

**Light movie spoilers, ahoy (mateys); if you've seen the trailer and clips, you already know it all. I own not a damn thing, aside from my groovy Kickstarter t-shirt and all the seasons... in duplicate, because I've worn discs out. You'll see some music along the way - songs listed at the end.**

* * *

The first time he tries, it's been fourteen weeks and five days since he's seen her.

He's at Dog Beach and has no idea why or how. He'd slipped behind the wheel and started driving, an old burned mix blaring through the speakers loud enough to create a shudder in the windows. There's something strangely comforting about volume, about something so intense that it renders you powerless.

A shrink would probably have a field day with this: how the violence of his father's fists had seemed so much worse when the house was silent, as opposed to when the TV would be blaring on. _Rambo _seemed to be one movie that frequently inspired a cigarette to the arm or a crack of leather. In the passing whim of the fading star, it would lash out at soft boy flesh.

A flick of the wrist, and the Hollywood guns killed on.

This mix dates back to senior year, to days of self-loathing drowned in drinks with Dick and empty sex with Dick's stepmom. He'd never chance another soul hearing it - had even marked it "Veronica's Summer Mix" for plausible deniability. _It's not mine_, he would tell anyone, should they discover it. _She must have left it in the glove box. Throw it out._

He could always make another, right?

Emo shit. Romantic shit. Songs he'd caught her singing in happier days, shared days. But it was all _her_ and that made it the perfect torture tool. He'd surprised himself when he'd found it in the back of a CD binder a week ago.

"_I'm only pretty sure that I can't take anymore  
Before you take a swing, I wonder, 'What are we fighting for?'  
When I say out loud, I'm gonna get out of this  
I wonder, is there anything I'm gonna miss?_

_I wonder how it's gonna be when you don't know me..._"

It brings him back to soccer field, to a skinny girl in knee socks and those beautiful blues that knocked the breath out of him as she hugged Lilly and shyly glanced his way. The memories flash fast and furious and the beach looms into view and he knows it's where he needs to be today.

He's surprised the Walkman still spins the disc as he wanders far off from the usual crowds of giggling girls and family pets chasing Frisbees, plunking down near the shore. The waves are choppy, cumulus clouds lingering in the distance. A storm is brewing.

One week. She'll be back in Neptune in one week. But not for long. No, not for long at all, if what he's overheard is true.

What clinches it - the stupid decision he's making right now, as he tugs the ear bud from the left and scrolls through his contacts - is the memory of Alterna-Prom. Because right now, they're stretched across a continent, a rubber band taut and frayed, and somehow, he knows they can't hold on this time.

He's out of her life and he's going to stay that way... unless there's a chance... Unless...

One ring, two, three...

_No._ He hangs up, shaking his head in misery. _No. I can't do this to her anymore. I can't keep hurting her._ It's his curse: the one person in the world he wishes he could protect from all sorrow and pain is the one person he seems to expertly shred to ribbons.

_If I could change..._ But can he? Can he ever march to the beat of a better drummer?

_I'm so sorry, Veronica. For everything. I'll listen this time. We'll do this your way._

She knows where to find him... or what's left of him, anyway.

* * *

The second time he tries, it's been been four months.

_Lilly_. He traces the name on the memorial fountain plaque, pressing the pad of his finger into each letter until it imprints upon him. A visible reminder of the damage done.

Four years... The seasons come and go, his face grows wearier, but the sting of this date never changes. For better and often worse, Lilly Kane was the first woman to capture his love and would remain important to him until his own last breath. It occurs to him that he'd always imagined his father would be responsible for that, a cruel irony in light of Lilly's brutal fate.

The water trickles and he allows it to cascade over his outstretched palm. Collecting artificial rain.

The iPod plays this time, but the music is the same: the playlist of that summer, the one where he first lost his greatest love. The love he can't move past. Dick tries and Mac is kinder than he would have predicted, but in the end, he's lost without her.

Not being in her life is one thing; not being able to steal even a glance of her is hell.

_What do I do, Lilly?_ he asks the monument.

She's got to be hurting today. The distance must only amplify that loss. Last year, they'd stood together in this very spot, reflecting on the spirited young woman who'd changed both of their lives forever.

_"Do you remember the tribute video?" Veronica asks him._

_Logan nods, a half-smile emerging. "Yeah. Celeste was so pissed. It was awesome."_

_Veronica chuckles. "Lilly would be thrilled."_

_"Yeah, that was kinda her _raison d'etre_, wasn't it?" Logan muses. His arm wraps around her shoulder as she shivers suddenly. "Cold?"_

_"No," she murmurs. "Just... sad."_

_They stand in quiet solidarity, the sun beginning to set overhead. It casts a shadow over the memorial, obscuring all but her name: _Lilly.

_"What do you think she'd say? About us?"_

_Logan presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I wonder sometimes if she always knew we'd end up together... Like maybe that's why she wasn't faithful to me. I keep thinking that in her own way, she was keeping her heart from being broken. I don't know..."_

_"Logan, she did love you. I know she did," Veronica insists, her face tilting up towards his._

_"She loved you, too. There's love and _in love, _Veronica. I just don't know which I had."_

_Veronica's fingers lace between his, tugging him gently away. "I know what you mean. Come on, let's go."_

He'd never paid much though to her words but they echo now in his skull. Had he been misled again? Had she _loved him_? Or had she been _in love_?

Was someone else holding her now as she shivered, consumed with silent grief?

He hovers over the call button, weighing the pros and cons. If there's one day of the year he can get away with disturbing her, one day where he can play the _you owe me more than this silent treatment bullshit_, it's today.

And that right there, that _you owe me this _mentality, is exactly what drove her away, he realizes. It's part of the Logan she can no longer stand. The Logan she transferred schools to get away from, because breaking up wasn't enough.

One of her favourite songs plays now - or was a favourite, back when they first parted ways as boyfriend and girlfriend. He would catch her singing it often, softly under her breath. A prayer for the fucked-up teens of America.

"_And _s_ometimes, when you're on, you're really fucking on  
And your friends, they sing along and they love you  
But the lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap  
And it teases you for weeks in its absence  
But you'll fight and you'll make it through  
You'll fake it if you have to  
And you'll show up for work with a smile  
And you'll be better and you'll be smarter  
And more grown up and a better daughter or son..._"

It's settled then, in his mind. Until he changes - and despite all of his protests of how fucking unfair her high expectations always were, he knows that he does need to grow up and change - there's no sense in opening up the lines again. The definition of insanity, etc. etc.

_If I want her back, I've got to prove it_.

And he will. Whether it makes a difference or not, he will prove it to her. _He _owes _her _that much.

* * *

The third time he tries, it's been five years.

He thinks of her daily - knows he always will - but he's been... okay. The Acceptance Stage of Grief arrived a good two years after her departure and while he struggles during the summers, aware that she could be home from school, he's decided that she must be happy, wherever she is.

He will never love anyone like he loves her, but there's a lot of songs about not getting what you want n life and well, it's just how it is.

He's cruising down the 101, returning from a trip to Santa Barbara, when the college radio station decides to play a song that he knows all too well. It's one he's always connected with her, ever since he overheard Mac playing it during an all-night cram session; hell, it could've been written about her. It's the kind of song Dick would laugh at him for listening to, perhaps make a comment about his balls being in a certain woman's purse. He remembers a conversation suddenly and the car veers slightly towards the shoulder in his surprise at how clearly he can hear her voice, even now.

_"Well, I'm going to miss these moments," she says, the sarcasm light enough to be missed by the casual observer._

_"You going somewhere?" he asks._

_"Oh! You see this?" She gestures to the hallway beside them._

_"Mm-hm." _

_"Uh, this is high school. We're here for four years and then we move on. And all these people you see every day vanish from your life and you never have to think about them again."_

And she had finally followed through on that vow, hadn't she?

If nothing else, Veronica Mars was a woman of her word. If she promised to make you pay for a transgression, you would suffer. If she threw you out of her life, you were a ghost to her.

"_Crash and burn  
All the stars explode tonight  
How'd you get so desperate?  
How'd you stay alive?_"

He pulls over, earning a few pissed off honks in the process, but it doesn't bother him. He's lost the desire to be angry, to fight everything and everyone in his path. He's _changed_.

It sinks in now: _I'm not that man anymore._ Wasn't that the whole reason he'd restrained himself (a few Google searches aside) from reaching out to her? Hadn't he spent the last five years struggling to become a better man for her? Someone she could at least happily call her friend, if nothing else?

"_Cry to the angels  
I'm gonna rescue you  
I'm gonna set you free tonight, baby  
Pour over me..._"

He's changed phones three times, but the number is always there. He has no idea if it's even the right number anymore, but he can't bear to check with Mac. It's been his lifeline, his tether in times of darkness, to believe she is just one call away. He blocks his number and then dials, listening as it rings once, twice, three times, four...

"_And I knew  
Love would tear you apart  
Oh, and I knew  
The darkest secret of your heart..._"

There is an answer on the other end and his breath catches as he realizes that this is _wrong_, all wrong, and quickly hangs up without listening for a reply. _Just what are you going to say to her, Logan? Hello? What's up? _He shakes his head, tossing the phone on the seat beside him. After this many years, he needs something much more than the mundane, something more meaningful than anything he's ever said to her in the past. Because if he's going to go there, take that risk and shatter all of the hopeful dreams of _what could be_, he's got to go all in.

He has to be... _epic_.

Signaling, he pulls back into the flow of traffic, the song coming to a close. _Stupid. Impulsive_. These are the things he's trying not to be anymore. He'd almost made a terrible mistake just now.

It won't happen again.

"_I can't be near you  
The light just radiates..._"

* * *

In the end, it takes nine years and a tremendous amount of pride being swallowed.

It's a scene out of one of those serial killer of the week TV shows that haunts him, even as the media turns, as they will do when you're the son of a famous murdering bastard who's been accused of a murder of his own. There's no amount of liquor that will erase it, not that he tries. He's not that man anymore, hasn't been for a very long time.

He's rolling his eyes as he listens to Miley Cyrus blaring from the sheriff's office, head bowed in contemplation. His ears listen for hints of the case against him, gathering intel, as it were. No one else is going to do it for him, after all. He knows what the truth is: he's innocent. But what is the truth that the cops are trying to sell? What's the media's version of events? What facts lie beneath the cotton candy-spun fiction?

He's suddenly free to go and he rises slowly, remembering to breathe. The bitter, sarcastic brat of a man he once was is pushed down deep, although it's so goddamn tempting to unload on the joke of a man behind the closed door (_now playing: Rihanna_). He steps outside, drawing in the sunshine and dirt of Neptune, and realizes he's screwed. Absolutely, royally, completely screwed.

He has a list of reasons why he's allowed the radio silence to persist, ranging from the mundane to the completely valid and rational. Every anniversary of Lilly's death brings a set of excuses; every anniversary of the day they split for good brings another set. Every holiday is an altogether messier pile of sentimentality or a pity parade. But even Logan understands that this is far bigger than a break-up.

There's only one person who can possibly get him out of this mess, and she's over 2000 miles away. It's also possible that she couldn't give a damn, even if she knew of this mess - and with the media losing their damn minds, how could she not?

"_It's a nice gesture, but it's gonna take some time this time_."

They're the last words she said to him and they loop on repeat as he stares at her name on the screen. They're not _out of my life forever_. They're not _I will never forgive you_. Nine years... is it enough time?

He takes a chance and dials. Voicemail - clearly a denied call. He expected this. Again, he dials her number, because he knows her, knows she'll pick up eventually. And she answers. His heart skips a beat as her voice reaches his ears.

"_So... what's new with you?_"

It's not eloquent. It's not pretty or special or anything resembling what he'd dreamed of for their reunion. No, it's almost a cliche, given their track record... and yet, it almost seems... right.

"I need your help, Veronica," he confesses.

She doesn't hang up. She absolves him.

* * *

**Songs (In Order):  
**

**How's It Gonna Be? - Third Eye Blind  
A Better Son/Daughter - Rilo Kiley  
Malibu - Hole**

**Feedback is always lovely and welcome... I've considered a companion second chapter from Veronica's POV... Let me know what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you for the kind words, readers! Since so many of you were keen to see how things unfolded for Veronica, I've decided to mirror the passing years from her point of view.  
**

**Light movie spoilers, ahoy (mateys); if you've seen the trailer and clips, you already know it all. I own not a damn thing, aside from my groovy Kickstarter t-shirt and all the seasons... in duplicate, because I've worn discs out. You'll see some music along the way - songs listed at the end.**

**And yes, The Claw exists. You'll understand soon enough.**

* * *

The first time she thinks of him, it's week three of her internship at Quantico.

Internships are essentially unpaid grunt labour under the guise of learning, as a rule. She knew this coming in the door, but didn't care. Between the dirty looks from Parker on her last day of classes, the looming threat of the mob and her father's indictment, the one thing she's clung to as a reprieve is the damn internship. She's photocopied and coffee retrieved and supply organized with a smile her Pep Squad years begat, and she's not said a damn thing when people have assumed she lacks intelligence on the basis of her hair colour.

But then, there's a case that piques her interest: sexual abuse in a group home. One of her supervisors, Special Agent Leah Campogna, draws the lead on it, and calls her into her office.

"You're a Private Investigator, Ms. Mars."

"I am," Veronica affirms, working to keep her expression neutral.

"Ever done undercover work?"

Veronica nods. "Many times."

Leah stares at her, mulling over _something_, while Veronica hopes this isn't the part where the intern gets asked to sexually service her superior. At last, Leah nods slowly.

"You're not a Field Agent. I want this clear. You are here to learn and develop skill sets that will guide you in your future career. But this case... I really want to catch the bastard. But none of the young men and women still inside are talking, and our most youthful looking Agent is on mat leave."

Veronica's eyes widen. "You want me to go inside the group home?"

Leah nods. "It will take special approval from the Bureau and your father, but your Investigator credentials offer us a unique legal situation. I don't want you to feel any pressure to accept, but if you're interested - "

"Yes." Veronica nods firmly. "I'm so in."

The adrenaline begins to surge immediately, that old, familiar rush. But this time, it'll be sanctioned. It'll be for a greater good, not her own selfish choices. Gather the intel, the Feds move in and take down the bad guys. Her father sees it as a great opportunity to make inroads with a respectable future employer.

Not all of the Agents take the intrusion onto their turf kindly. While doling out coffees after the team meeting, Veronica overhears Lewis, a macho ass who likely spends his weekends fist pumping with his _Jersey Shore _fan club, muttering to another guy.

"Don't know why they're risking the whole goddamn op with Intern Blondie," he gripes. "This ain't a pornography sting. She's gonna have to do more than lie on her back and look pretty."

For a moment, her worst fears are realized: _someone found out about the video_. Her breath catches in her throat as the discussion continues, but it's soon clear that they don't actually know. It's just sexist bullshit.

It still hurts like hell.

She calls Piz that night, but he doesn't _get it_. He doesn't understand the anger, the annoying shame she feels even though she did nothing wrong. She makes excuses, hangs up and throws her phone on the bed. For Piz, it's never been more than an embarrassment at best, a shrug-and-move-on moment of college life. He doesn't understand the violation she feels, so he can't fathom how deeply Lewis' stupid remark cuts her.

_Logan understood_.

It was why he'd gone after Piz and Gorey, right? Because he _knew _it would hurt her. He _knew _what the repercussions would be.

_That doesn't make calling him a good idea. We're over. He's out of my life for... for a long time. Forever, maybe. _

But he would understand. He would know what to say. Hell, he'd have some inspirational message on the subject. He'd know how to get the silent tears spitefully streaking her cheeks to stop falling.

_He'd understand, all right. And then he'd fly out here and kick Lewis' ass and that would be the end of this internship and probably my career._

He has no control and she's ruined enough lives lately. Bloodshed is overrated.

But she needs him. Logan. Today, she needs him and she hates that she needs him, hates that she can't just... be normal. Be calm. Be a typical college student.

She's halfway through the email before she's conscious of writing it, several paragraphs deep into a free association of isolation and regret, of guilt over her father taking another hit in life at her expense, of being tired of her body being this thing that people can hurt and mistreat and exploit for their own pleasure. She tells him that she misses his friendship, that even if they suck as a couple, his utter loyalty to those he calls friend redeems him in the end. She tells him about Lewis, about how she managed to make a crack about how if she were in a porn with him, she would be too busy laughing at his steroid-shrunken testicles to fake the obligatory orgasm.

She tells him that she misses him, and then she deletes the draft.

But she does send an email that night... to Piz. And yes, it's cowardly, but she has nothing left to give either of the men in her life. She ends their sorta-on-break-for-summer relationship that night. And then, she turns to the paperwork Leah offered her for financial aid for Stanford.

* * *

The first time he tries to call her is the end of summer. She's surprised it's taken this long.

Stanford has opened its door to her, offering a partial scholarship that will cover a good 70% of her tuition. Begrudgingly, she accepts student loans for the rest of her expenses. Her father is deeply upset about her decision, although he hides it well with praise for her school of choice.

He pretends it isn't at least partially about her last investigation into Jake Kane, and she pretends it really is all about switching majors after shadowing a criminal profiler at Quantico for a week and falling in love with Psychology. Yep, it's all about the mentor of a mentor professor and has nothing to do with a sex tape her father mercifully seems oblivious to, nor does it have a damn thing to do with avoiding Logan and Piz.

She's not her mother. She's not.

She keeps telling herself this as she turns up the music. She's made a playlist for her big life change, like a twelve year-old girl. Lilly used to laugh at her for it, but a loving laugh. Wistfully, Veronica recalls her staged break-up with Duncan and how she'd longed to blast something more _this isn't fair_ but chose music that conveyed _dumped and in despair_.

Beth Hart's bluesy vocals fill her room as she carefully folds a blouse and she sings along. It's one of the most fitting songs she's stumbled onto for her theme.

"_She hangs around the boulevard  
She's a local girl with local scars  
She got home late, she got home late  
She drank so hard the bottle ached_..."

The phone rings beside her and she rolls her eyes. _Dad, come on! I'll be home in a week._ Her hand reaches for it, freezing at the name on the display.

_Logan._

A second ring. A third. She's paralyzed. _Does he know?_ Is that why he's calling her now? The ringing stops, the missed call alert lingering. Why is he calling her _now_?

_I am not my mother's daughter. We're not even together anymore. I'm not abandoning him_.

But she is. She's the only constant who remains from his youth aside from Dick, who's never really been there for Logan so much as Logan has looked after him.

"_She left a note right by the phone  
Don't leave a message 'cause this ain't no home  
And she cried and she cried, and she cried and she cried  
She cried so long her tears ran dry  
Then she laughed and she laughed, she laughed and she laughed  
'Cause she knew she was never comin' back_..."

She debates calling him back as she realizes he's hung up before going to her voice mail. He could be in trouble. He could be angry with her for leaving Neptune, or upset, or... Or nothing. Maybe he wants to thank her for staying away, for ridding their lives of the complication of what was once... _epic_.

At this, she curses herself silently, because she wonders if he called to ask her to come home, to come back to him. She knows he hasn't been with anyone else since Parker; Mac is useful for hometown updates, particularly as she's nursing her own wounds from her split with Max. Maybe he misses her like she misses him, despite all of her best efforts to let go and move on forever. Maybe he's changed.

_You could call hm back, Veronica. It's not exactly rocket science. It's a button on a phone._

No, it's a terrible idea and she shoves the phone away in frustration. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if he's changed, or if she's finally letting go of the Madison thing, thanks to Dick telling Mac that it's possible Madison used a little chemical help to get Logan into her bed. It doesn't matter because _she_ hasn't changed, not one damn bit.

She's still distrustful and angry and headstrong. She's still the woman who feels the need to pick a fight, to dig deeper into things than she should. She's still the person who can't resist jamming her hand on the self-destruct button.

It still won't work, so why torture herself? Why hurt him again? She's going to Stanford to make a fresh start, to shake off the creeping vine clutches of Neptune. It will be a better place without her for _all of them_.

"_It's all I love, it's all I hate  
It's all too much for me to take  
I can't be sure where it begins  
Or if the good life lies within..._"

She clears the missed call from her history and stretches out on her bed with a sigh. Whatever his reasons for calling, she won't respond. It's the kindest thing she can do for both of them.

At least, that's what she tells herself.

* * *

October 3rd. For her classmates and roommate, it's just another day.

It's strange to live in a world now where everyone in her daily sphere isn't keenly aware of an anniversary as painful as this. Veronica fastens Lilly's necklace around her neck and begins the day with a walk down a photographic memory lane. Prom. Silly moments, caught on film in poorly framed and often blurry shots. Dim lighting doesn't matter: Lilly's smile always lit up the world. She had that star quality, that indescribable 'It Factor'.

She misses her, more than ever. There will be no trip to her grave, no trip to the memorial fountain. There will be no one to hold her today when the unbidden tears begin to fall, as they always do.

It's just another Wednesday at Stanford. No quizzes, no tests, no assignments due. She blows off classes with her professors' blessings.

She tries to stay busy: she buys a new top, one Lilly would enthusiastically endorse for her. She swings by a quiet coffee shop she knows and reads over an organic mocha latte. She tries, so hard, to make it through, but it all goes to shit when she makes her way back to campus and passes The Claw. _A water fountain. _One of many on campus and home to countless fountain-hopping incidents. It's practically in the Admissions booklet: _Welcome to Stanford, home of hopping fountains_. The way the water catches on the structure... something in it reminds her of last year, of a cascade of droplets tumbling from a hand.

_Logan_.

Fighting back tears, she slams into a bathroom near the bookstore and is relieved to find it empty. Maybe this is a bad idea - _no maybe about it, it's a lousy idea, Veronica _- but as alone as she is today, Logan is also alone and maybe... Maybe they shouldn't be alone. Her phone practically dials itself.

"_Neptune Grand_," the voice on the other end announces.

"Penthouse, please."

"_One moment._"

The line begins to ring and she is suddenly acutely aware of how terrible an idea this is, how unfair of her to ask for his help. Because this isn't about him, not really; it's about her, and how the gaping hole in her heart is just five sizes bigger than usual because he's not there to reassure her, to _get it_ as so few people ever could. But before she can will herself to disconnect, there's a voice on the other end.

"_'Yello?_"

_Dick Casablancas. Crap._ "Is Logan around?" she asks, disguising her voice with a twist of Valley Girl.

"_Nah, he's out maxin' and relaxin'. Wanna leave a message?_"

"No... No, never mind."

She hangs up quickly, crumpling inside a stall and hugging her knees to her chest. Dick is clueless if he thinks Logan could ever relax on this day. Logan's clearly off on his own somewhere, avoiding his friend. And she... she is not his friend. Not anymore. She's just the ex-girlfriend, the one he left because she couldn't stop pursuing cases that grew more dangerous by the year.

She finds a way to suppress the tears and get back to her dorm, where Jenny is mercifully leaving to spend the night with her boyfriend. Exhausted, she flips through her CD binder and chooses an old mix given to her by Lilly to listen to in bed.

"_It's dark in here, visions are flashing into my head  
as I reminisce my reoccurring dreams and you said,  
'I'm falling, falling for you babe  
my feelings are getting stronger'..._"

In her mind, she remembers a conversation, lost in the ether of time.

_"I know Lilly loved you."_

_"Yeah, just not like I loved her. It's okay. No, uh, you know, it kinda lets me off the hook, you know. I-I don't know, I don't have to feel guilty anymore."_

_**"**Feel guilty about what?"_

_**"**Moving on."_

And they had become something. Something special and turbulent and wild, so very much like Logan and Lilly, only different. Because there was so much pain when it ended each time, more pain than Lilly had ever experienced. And while losing Duncan was shattering each time, she'd never known true devastation until Logan had left her last year, his gentle kiss farewell burned into her flesh.

"_You know I'm no stranger in your dreams_... "

And what would Lilly say, about this? About her decision to shed the Veronica born in the wake of a murder and return to... to what? To innocence feigned?

It doesn't take her long to find out. The weariness and grief sedate her and she is soon tumbling into a rabbit hole of a dreamscape.

_She is standing in front of the memorial fountain, snorting in laughter as she examines the dedication. "This is so like Celeste, isn't it? To immortalize her daughter to ensure her own infamy?"_

_"Lilly?"_

_She turns and she is mercifully smiling - no bloody head wounds, no strange, glazed look. "Hey you! It's been a while."_

_The embrace is warm, but frail. Ghosts do not carry a significant body mass, even in dreams._

_"Four years," Veronica reminds her._

_"I would have dropped out by now," Lilly muses. "School was never my thing. How much you wanna bet Daddy Dearest would have given me a job just to make sure he could sell me to some rich asshole like a cow?"_

_"Lilly, I miss you. So much."_

_Lilly sighs. "I know, Veronica. But I'm gone. I'm history. Just some scribbled message in a bunch of yearbooks. Oh, and a tacky fountain." She jerks her thumb to her left. "Next life, I leave careful instructions for my memorial shrine."_

_"Or you could not die next time," Veronica suggests._

_"Not a choice we get to make. We can choose our friends, our lovers, our clothes. But death? It comes when it wants. Knock-knock-knocking on heaven's door." _

_Her hand reaches for Veronica's as she blinks and suddenly, they're at Stanford. The Claw looms behind her._

_"What are you doing here, Veronica?"_

_"I... I always dreamed of Stanford, Lilly. You know that."_

_"Bullshit. You loved Hearst. And Psychology? What a waste of your talent!"_

_"Profiling is -"_

_"An excuse to run from everyone. It's you trying to get back into that stupid yellow, cotton dress." Lilly rolls her eyes and grips her shoulders, shaking her gently. "Is this what you _really _want, Veronica Mars?"_

_She nods slowly. "Yes. Yes, I do."_

_"Then, I guess you go and be the best cotton dress ever." Lilly turns and walks away, pausing before the fountain. "Just remember this: he fell for you in cotton."_

Veronica awakens in a cold sweat, music quietly droning in the background. Her hand palms the tiny charm suspended from her neck as she focuses on her breathing. Steady as she goes.

She knows what Lilly wants her to do. She can't give her that. But she can give her another gesture.

Her bikini is red beneath the trench coat drawn tightly around her frame as she stands admiring it. The Claw. It's one tradition she evaded, transferring in her sophomore year. Shrugging out of her coat, she knows that today is the right day.

"For Lilly," she whispers as she races across the water, wincing as the cool stream trickles down her legs.

* * *

She should have seen the signs, she realizes later on her flight to Neptune.

One day before the call, the radio she routinely blasts as she makes breakfast and showers happens to play "I Hear The Bells". She finds herself frozen for several long seconds, the butter on her knife poised to slip free and tumble to the crowded counter top. Behind her, Piz slips up, kissing the side of her neck.

"Something wrong? Aside from this musical travesty, I mean?"

"I love this song..." she replies softly.

"Mike Doughty can slag on Soul Coughing as much as he wants, but his best years were tainted in drug addiction and polished by his band. Although, the acoustic solo work wasn't too bad." Piz opens the fridge beside her as she resumes buttering her toast. "Any interviews today?"

"Truman-Mann," she replies, her mind awash in memories of a hotel room turned Prom venue. "Corporate law, highly ranked. Getting an interview is almost harder than acing it, I'm told."

"Then you should start celebrating, because once they've met Veronica Mars, their search will be over," Piz replies, beaming at her over his retrieved lunch bag. "Come by the office later, let me know how it goes."

"I will."

He rushes out the door and she abandons her breakfast, turning instead to her closet to select her armor for the day's meeting. A blazer, of course, Slacks. No white blouse, she decides. Too expected, too... submissive, somehow.

"_And I'm seeking girls in sales and marketing  
Let's go make out up in the balcony  
Your business dress, so business-like and I'm  
Tossing the blouse over a chair-back_..."

"I love this song," she mumbles to no one in particular.

The interview goes well, all sex tape talk aside, but her victory is short-lived as she watches the news story play out on the monitors at the station. _Bonnie Deville, dead. No, Carrie Bishop, dead_. And the media is frothing at the mouth to accuse her ex-boyfriend, Logan Echolls.

Piz is upset at her silence. She's not sure she cares.

What she does care about is whether he's guilty this time and a cursory review of the so-called evidence confirms her instincts: it's a set-up, just like Toombs. And what luck: another Lamb baa-baa'ed his way into the Sheriff's Office in Neptune. Logan is unequivocally screwed. There's no justice in a town like Neptune, even when you have enough money to make doors open. If you're the easiest scapegoat to round up, the law will lead you to the slaughter. Actual detective work is not a job requirement.

She spends a restless night in Piz's embrace, remembering another murder investigation in another time.

Her next morning begins the same as the last: shower, dress, take the subway to the mighty offices of Truman-Mann. No musical memories of the misty persuasion, but his name is everywhere: Logan Echolls. Killer. Jilted boyfriend. The video hadn't played that way in her eyes, but she possessed a deeper understanding of the orphaned son of a murderous movie star than most. She knew that for all of his violent outbursts, he couldn't - wouldn't - kill anyone. Striking a woman was off the list of possible acts Logan might undertake.

Her phone rings. She knew it would. The only image she was able to find quickly last night was an old yearbook shot and now it's Veronica facing a ghost. A ghost of her life, but also the ghost of her life itself. The Veronica that hasn't existed in a very, very long time. She silences it. She'll call him back after the interview.

He calls again. Another candidate looks irritated. Those eyes are unrelenting, even on a screen.

_Damn it._

She slips outside into the elevator lobby and takes the call, hesitating briefly before opting to keep it light. "So... what's new with you?"

"_I need your help, Veronica._"

Famous last words. Even as she tells him she doesn't do _that_ anymore, her mind immediately begins racing through the facts she dug up on the internet last night. Lamb's stupid brother and his stupid face. The way he'll never give Logan a fair trial.

"_Look, can you just hear me out?_" he pleads over the line.

She could. But will she? _Of course you will, Veronica. Because you've been waiting for this call since yesterday afternoon_.

"I have an interview right now... a job interview," she clarifies. "But we can talk in an hour."

"_Promise you'll call back._" It's an order, not a question.

"Of course I will, Logan," she tells him gently, glancing at the receptionist who's waving through the glass. "I promise you."

There is a bell, ringing in the background, as he replies. "_Thank you, Veronica. For picking up._"

"Anytime," she tells him, and means it.

And she does. She no longer needs time or space to forgive. None of that matters now. This - this mess he's in, and her mind spinning the possibilities - this is just who they are. He is her friend. He needs her help.

How can she refuse?

* * *

**Songs (in order)  
**

**L.A. Song - Beth Hart**

**Come Here Boys - Imogen Heap**

**I Hear The Bells - Mike Doughty**

**Feedback is always lovely and welcome...  
**


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